


Want, Shatter, and Be Held

by FallenSeraphs



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, Fenris topping from the bottom, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Past Abuse, M/M, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 12:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7715398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenSeraphs/pseuds/FallenSeraphs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders loves to see Fenris want like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want, Shatter, and Be Held

Morning pours through their Hightown mansion windows, floods over the sheets of their shared bed. Anders feels it, bright and red behind the skin of his eyelids, burning warm as the kisses on the nape of his neck— one after another—stirring him awake.

Fenris’ fist curls as he tightens his hold around Anders’ waist, presses his bare body against Anders’ back. His skin rubs against Anders’, again and again, undulating beneath the cover of their sheets. The only sound is his steadily shortening breath, subtle but sharp within the walls of their room.

Anders rocks his hips back against his lover in turn. “I see someone’s woken up in a mood,” he teases, trying to keep the breath in his voice. “You sure you don’t want a little breakfast first?” he smirks. “I could take a little walk down to the market and get us a nice hefty basket of-”

“-Stay.” Fenris grips Anders’ hip to make his point, blunt nails pushing proprietary dents into his skin.

A noise between a chuckle and a strangled gasp escapes Anders. Fenris’ deceptively slender fingers hold him with a force that stops his rutting, and he’s almost disappointed by the loss of friction. Almost— until he feels licked-wet lips against the shell of his ear. A rough, sinful voice commands him:

_“I want you inside of me, Anders.”_

Honeyed-chestnut eyes open, wide and fully awake. “Are-Are you sure?”

Anders knows it’s a rare and sometimes delicate request, so he asks— each and every time. The first time, he’d asked so much he’d worried he’d spoiled the mood, but Fenris hushed him, saying, _‘It is a comfort, not an annoyance, Anders. A basic decency I have not always been given.’_

Anders promised Fenris he’d never go without it again.

“I am sure,” Fenris answers, calm and even, his hands leaving Anders’ hip to pull pale, freckled shoulders down, flat against the mattress. One fist grips the covers and flings them far from their bodies—  the flex of bicep sharply stoking the flame building below Anders’ navel. Fenris crawls on top of his mage, threads lyrium-scored hands through ginger hair, pulls Anders closer and devours his mouth in a kiss that topples them both under like the force of a tidal wave.

“ _Maker_ ,” Anders gasps when he’s finally allowed to catch his breath. He hardly has time to catch another before Fenris slides three fingers passed his lips and over the flat of his tongue.

“Lubricate them,” Fenris orders, pulling the fingers out of Anders’ mouth and running a wet trail down his arm, entwining their hands together. Just beneath Anders’ stubbled jaw, Fenris recaptures his own breath. He nuzzles like a kitten and yet nips with wolfish teeth, trembles with need like a plucked string. 

Anders loves to see Fenris _want_ like this.

Permission for magic granted, a tendril winds around Fenris’ fingers and coats his palm in clear grease. Lyrium lines respond, lighting his body like a glyph, flashing the entire room with a hazy blue glow.

Fenris slides down until he sits over Anders’s spread thighs. He rolls his lithe but powerful shoulders back, jutting his chest out, arching his spine. A coated finger travels up his own knee to just under his ball sack, rubbing the bridge to his puckered ring and back, over and over again. His chin tilts upward, but his gaze pins Anders intently—  green and glinting under the sleep-mussed fringe of his white hair.

Anders’ throat works at the display. “You wake me up like _that_ , and _now_ you tease me? Have you no mercy?”

Fenris’ laugh is a bark, a brief flush in his cheeks. “My mage, I shall always possess the time to enjoy the ways you squirm.” There’s the slice of a grin on his face— somehow vulnerable, playful, and piercing all at once. He closes his eyes, bites down on his lip, finally sinks a finger inside himself to the knuckle.

And squirm Anders does.

Fenris’ brows knit together in concentration, a pinch forming just above his nose. He presses back into his own slicked fingers, pivots his hips slowly. Adds another finger, scissors, stretches. Begins to faintly smirk again, a shudder coursing up his body as his mouth slackens into a wordless _‘oh’_.

Anders loves to see Fenris _take_ like this.

Reverently, Anders’ palms up and down bronze thighs, then over his warrior’s firmly muscled ass— grasping, kneading, spreading him more open. _“Love-_ ” he breathes, before Fenris lunges forward without warning, mouth crashing into his again with a force that knocks their teeth. Anders feels a slick hand envelope his shaft, pumping with a sure grip that makes the muscles in his lower stomach twitch.

Fenris opens his eyes to position himself as he strokes, rubbing the head of Anders cock in small circles against his entrance.  The feeling—  the promise of what’s to come— renders Anders helpless, unable to stifle the thick moans in his throat, “I _want_ you.”

“Then have me, my mage— ” Fenris catches his bottom lip in a kiss, tugs it, grins ferally against his mouth before letting go, “— and I shall have you.” He sinks his hips down, engulfing Anders’ length entirely.

The bedroom rings with their mingled hisses. In the pause after, they remember their breath.

Fenris moves, teasingly slow again _._ His hips rock in place, grinding steadily against Anders’ pelvis. His gaze draws inward, focused on the stiff weight, the sweltering _fullness_ of his lover. As he shifts, his inner walls press against Anders, knowing the shape of him fully, melding himself against him.

The slowness is torture, but Anders lets Fenris take all the time he needs. In moments like these—  silent but charged like the clouds of an oncoming tempest—  he still can hardly believe this glorious elf is his. _His_ , when in the past, the only cherished things he could call his own were a pillow and a pendant. 

“ _Beautiful_ ,” Anders whispers, the sweet ache of it blooming in his chest.

Fenris flashes him a true smile, the kind that used to grace his lips so rarely. A warm hint of rose runs to the tips of his ears. “So you often say. If you are not careful, you will turn me vain.” 

“You have every right to be,” Anders huffs, in both false indignation and breathless lust.

Fenris chuckles, lush and staccato. He lets himself fall backward, his hands digging into the mattress behind him and propping himself up. His eyes level with Anders’, watching as he gives his mage an uninterrupted view of his torso, wisps and lines of lyrium white sweeping toward his proud erection, abdominals working as he rolls his hips in upward circles.   

Anders curses in Tevene, and Fenris chortles more at the bad habits Anders has pilfered off of him over the years. At the way the words are so endearingly clumsy on his tongue.  Anders knows this is why, and yet he still gives a little pout, “Don’t you laugh at me. There are no blighted words in common for the ways you—“

— He’s cut off by his own moan.

Fenris tightens his inner muscles against Anders’ cock, hoists his hips to the head, swivels a half crescent, and slams back down to his base. He throws his head back, slack-mouthed, and does it again. Makes a velvet growl as he feels Anders twitch from inside.

Anders can’t speak. His voice is lost to him, temporarily muted by the haze in Fenris’ narrowed eyes, by the tip of tongue licking the top of his open, berry mouth.

There is nothing, _nothing_ Anders loves more than to see this rapture in Fenris— unguarded and fearless. To see him _free_.

Anders’ hands are suddenly everywhere on Fenris he can touch. When he finally regains speech, there is only one thing for him to say: “ _Fenris_.”

Fenris smirks again, pulls himself to sitting, digs his fingers into freckle-dusted shoulder blades, “ _Anders._ ” The strangled register of his voice gives the healer his sole warning, _‘The time for teasing us both has passed.’_

The way Fenris fucks himself on Anders is all practiced control and yet pure exhilaration. As if in the thick of battle, his limbs coil tight and spring with elegant ferocity, an apex predator lost in the thrill of his hunt. His grip on Anders’ shoulders stings where nails meet flesh, his heels digging in the mattress to give the leverage he needs to angle himself just right. His cock ruts against the valley below Anders’ navel, heavy and flushed.

Anders cannot help but buck up into Fenris with far less grace, with a far more frenzied _need_. He takes Fenris’ arousal in hand, watches that lovely face contort in bliss in his touch. The springs of their bed creak in protest, punctuated by the slap of fevered flesh, by jubilant cries and curses and names said as reverently as verses of the Chant.

Fenris swallows thickly, “Hold me down.” The jolts of pleasure from where they join— deep static sparks that run up their knees, disperse from the base of their spines, nest tighter and tighter in the pit of their stomachs— have become nearly unbearable. They shake like wind-rustled leaves, like live wires, the conduits of a lightning spell.

Anders regards Fenris from under golden lashes, licks a bead of salted sweat from his gasping mouth,  “…you sure?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Fenris chokes out as his hips finally stutter, mind finally incapable of keeping up with the carnal needs of his body. He lifts a hand and grazes it against Anders’ cheek, cards it with imploring affection through ginger hair. “I wish to come undone underneath you, in your arms. _Only for you_.”

Who would’ve thought a love like this existed for _them_? For things to change from _abomination_ and _wild dog_ to _healer_ and _protector_? For each of them to have a safe place they called home together and a home in one another?

Who would’ve thought they’d find the courage to have faith in that love, to tie it like a silk blindfold over their own eyes, to let themselves _fall_ into that deep chasm and not to fear— to _know_ that they would always be caught. 

Anders holds Fenris down, gathers all of him securely in his arms, engulfs his lips in a kiss

                                                                                                                                                   and

                                                                                                                                                                 they

                                                                                                                                                                               both

                                                                                                                                                                                              shatter.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do a piece where Fenris bottoming isn't a "weakness," but a glorious taking back of his sexuality. In a happy twist of fate, writing this coincided with Fenders Appreciation Week on Tumblr. I have no betas, but am happily searching for constructive criticism.
> 
> You can find me at fallenseraphs.tumblr.com.


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